


Brother Confidant

by wordybirdy



Series: Trifle Bubbles - One-Shots & Multi-Chaptered [4]
Category: Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms, Sherlock Holmes - Arthur Conan Doyle
Genre: Coming Out, Family, Love, M/M, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-31
Updated: 2012-12-31
Packaged: 2017-11-23 03:21:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,696
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/617510
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wordybirdy/pseuds/wordybirdy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Being the tale of what occurred when Sherlock Holmes came out to brother Mycroft in the March of 1886.</p><p>Another bubble from the series “From Trifle to Infinity”.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Brother Confidant

A late Winter's chill evening. Nested upon the sofa beside my friend, our four arms anchoring us together. The sound of the wind and rain outside, but here close to the warmth and within the safety of each other we heard little of it. Our talk was fond and rambling that night: of reminiscences and characters and the morrow's chores and duty. At one point we fell to chuckling about the old glass eye that Holmes, at one eccentric moment in the not so distant past, had taken to wearing upon his watch chain.

“You never wear it any more,” I said. 

I felt his lips curl in a smile against my temple.

“No,” said he, “I grew weary of the attention it attracted.”

“I should not have thought that would have worried you, of all men.”

“Well, whatever _that_ is supposed to mean,” my friend replied.

I cast my mind back to that time, to those first blissful and fully realised days of reciprocal love.

“Oh,” I said suddenly. “You never did tell of it. What exactly _did_ take place when you paid those visits to brother Mycroft? Back then, when you confided for the first time?”

Holmes snuffled against my shoulder as if overcome by a sudden fatigue.

“I did not suppose that it required any telling,” said he.

I waited patiently, and he knew it. After a minute I heard him sigh and take in a deep drawn breath.

“Would you prefer the long version or the short?” he enquired.

“The long,” I told him with a kiss. “Please.”

“Ugh.” He wriggled. (I rather hoped this to be a reaction to the request than to the kiss.) “Well, listen, then. And do try to not fall asleep, John, for I should not care to have to repeat any of it twice.”

I squeezed his hand, and he proceeded in an elaborate ramble quite unusual for him.

“I do remember that it was an entirely wet and utterly _filthy_ day, and I had been in an appalling temper from the start. I had attempted to concentrate upon a chemical experiment, but it was of no use because my head was in a mess. I felt as if I might be going mad, John. I thought it to be an impossible situation; one that had been building steadily for years, yes, well, you know that now. I had lived in constant fear that you should find me out and be disgusted, leave our home, that I might not see you any more. That terrified me. I had never suspected that you were of my stock, even less that you might feel a fraction of what it was I felt for you.”

I closed my eyes. “I wish I might have been more frank about it,” I said. “We wasted so much time.”

He nudged my side.

“Hush and never mind it now. And stop distracting me. Where was I. Oh yes, my state of mind was not a happy one by then. For I had never been attracted to so much as a faded picture postcard before I met you, and now here I was, with all of these unfathomable feelings and...” and here he hesitated, “...and _desires_. I had no idea as to what half of them meant. I had to look it all up in books, John.”

I laughed; I could not help it.

“Well, you can laugh! That is what I had to do. I did not know if I was in love or suffering from an incurable illness. The two might be synonymous, as some would say. Who to talk to? I could think of no-one except my brother, and scarcely him even then. For we were not close. And yet when I was a child I had known him to comfort me upon occasion, to offer me solace and words of wisdom. Perhaps he might afford me the same kindness now, twenty years on. I tossed the thought around in my head for one or two weeks. I so needed to gauge _someone's_ reaction; someone that I might trust to be discreet, that I might process and work it through. I knew that Mycroft might be reliably found at the Diogenes, where if he was not at work within his private office then he would be roaming the long corridors or the vast rooms in that doughty, morose fashion of his.

“So it came to be then, that the early afternoon saw me uncommonly nervous and standing inside the entrance hall, speaking with the fellow there. Stanley, I believe, was his name. At any rate, he recognised me, heaven knows how, and waved me through that I might explore and locate my brother along the route. What a strange place, is the Diogenes. Exquisitely furnished, nonetheless, and dotted with gentlemen with one sole thing in common: the grave desire to remain silent. I can appreciate it all the same, for small talk has never been my forte either, nor my preference. Mycroft was not in his office. I passed through several of the rooms, each filled to their capacity with the after-luncheon crowd. Eventually, I found my brother in the dining room seated across from Victor Burroughs. They had recently finished their meal and were now idling with a glass of port apiece. And that, John, is how I first became acquainted with young Burroughs, and where he soon would come to me with that odd case involving his Aunt.

“Mycroft was much taken aback to see me; his eyes fairly bulged in that huge head of his.

“'Why Sherlock!' exclaimed he, 'What on earth are you doing here?' He stopped to scrutinise me then, evidently realising my turmoil, although to all outward appearances I was wholly serene. Mycroft knew me better; he must have deduced it from an unruly blink of my eye or a twitch of my head. He excused himself from Victor, then rose up from his dining chair and took my elbow to usher me out. No further words were spoken until he had introduced me into his office and closed and locked the door behind us.

“'What is the matter?' he enquired, seating himself behind his oaken desk and looking up at me. 'Sit down, Sherlock, stop circling, and talk. You are in trouble of some kind.'

“He said the last more as a statement than as query. 

“'You might think so,' I replied, as I seated myself reluctantly. I lit a cigarette only for something to do with my hands. I was unaccountably nervous. It felt almost as if I had reverted to school and was reporting to the headmaster over some dire misdemeanour. 'I would appreciate your advice, Mycroft.'

“'And you shall certainly have it,' my brother replied. He leaned back in his padded leather chair, and steepled his fat fingers. 'A personal concern rather than a professional one, I deduce.'

“'You deduce correctly,' I replied. I hesitated then, for what felt an eternity. I became entirely fascinated by my cigarette. I should have been fairly amused by my behaviour at this point, if I had not been so conflicted and seriously wondering why I was sitting there with Mycroft's steel grey eyes fixed on me. So I remained provocatively silent, and looked about me at the bookshelves and the cabinets and the green leather of the desk top. I counted the pencils in their racks and I would have done as much for the ink pens if Mycroft had not reached across and tapped the desk in front of me.

“'Sherlock,' he said, quietly. 'Please.'

“'I find that I have fallen in love,' I said, flatly.

“Mycroft's jaw loosened a measure. He had not expected this, at any rate.

“'Then I must congratulate you,' said he at last, 'for that is good news, is it not? Or, is the lady already married? Or, god forbid, Sherlock, you have not...?'

“'It is nothing like that,' I snapped. I saw him relax. 'But you would not approve,' I added blindly.

“Mycroft smiled at me indulgently. 

“'Aha, I think I see. The lady is from an unfortunate background, or she covets a mysterious past, and you are doubtful as to her feelings, or of your own, and you seek my counsel.'

“'Not even remotely,' I replied. I observed the expression upon my brother's face with some large degree of satisfaction.

“'Then where exactly might the problem lie?' Mycroft enquired with a frown.

“I took a deep breath.

“'I have fallen in love, that is true, but it is not with a lady,' I said – and it had taken all of my reserve to admit only that.

“My brother's frown deepened.

“'Hum. You have realised feelings for... a girl, then. Well now, how old is she? In double figures I hope, at least, ha ha! I feel quite certain that you are capable of waiting until she comes of age. My dear brother, there is absolutely nothing to be so gloom-faced about. Or do her parents object to the match? I cannot see how. You are extremely eligible.'

“'A _gentleman_ , Mycroft. A _man_. The fellow with whom I share lodgings, in fact.'

“'A gentleman?'

“'Yes.'

“'You have fallen in love with a gentleman.' Incredulous.

“'I am afraid so.'

“'If this is your idea of a joke, Sherlock, I must tell you that it is most ill-advised –'

“'It is not a joke, Mycroft.'

“He looked at me properly then, the dawning realisation of my telling the truth and perhaps thinking back to the numerous occasions when he had thought of me as somewhat odd. And now he had a reason on which to hang my contrariness. Oh, but if I had the adequate powers of description to tell you all of the expressions that I saw pass across his face, John. You would be most impressed. Eventually, he opened his mouth to speak again.

“'And is this gentleman aware of your... infatuation? You have mentioned him to me just once before. Wattle? Wiston?'

“'His name is John Watson,' I replied, quietly. ' _Dr._ John Watson. And it is not an infatuation. And no, he is not aware of it, as far as I know.'

“My brother sighed heavily. He shook his head slowly, settled his hands in his lap.

“'Then I advise you _not_ to tell him, and I advise you to put this ridiculous notion to the absolute back of your mind, Sherlock. What other advice would you expect me to offer? For this is a phase that you are passing through and that is all.'

“I should have known as to expect such a knee-jerk reaction from brother Mycroft, but all the same I felt bitterly stung.

“'It is hardly a _phase_ , Mycroft. I am thirty-two years old. And you know as well as I do that I have never shown the remotest interest in the fairer sex. I had always lived a solitary, reclusive life, and it suited me. But then I met Watson – out of necessity, to share in the rent – and five years later here I am and here we are. And I know that I must tell him how I feel, or lose my mind. And I am aware of the terrible risk in doing so. And I am asking you for your brotherly support, Mycroft; not your condemnation, nor your pity.'

“Mycroft looked at me then, if not with condemnation then most certainly with pity.

“'Supposing that you tell him,' said he. 'He may well take alarm and report you. You would stand to lose everything. The career that you have worked so hard towards. The respect of your peers. Even your liberty.'

“'Yes,' I said, 'I do know that. I am not so thoroughly blinkered. I also know Watson a little better than you might suppose, and I am confident that should he reject me then he would be a gentleman about it. If, however, there should be the slightest possibility that he felt the same as I, then I would be truly happy for, I think, the first time in my life. I should rather like to be happy, Mycroft. The state has managed to elude me fairly successfully thus far.'

“'Your _work_ makes you happy,' replied Mycroft. 'A damned sight happier than whatever tricks your dear Doctor might hold up his sleeve. No, Sherlock, don't flounce up like that. Sit down. I am doing my best to understand you, but you must realise that you have sprung this news upon me very suddenly. Do please at least give me credit for not having you thrown out of the club. If you act upon this impulse then you will be regarded as a criminal within the eyes of the law. Can you not appreciate what an alarming notion that is for me? My own brother. You cannot expect me to twist favour in your direction if it came down to it, for my own reputation would suffer. What support then do you need from me? For that is what you said you wanted, is it not?'

“'You might have me thrown out of the Diogenes? Then I clearly disgust you.'

“'I did not say that. I _meant_ to say, to please give me credit for not wishing to do so. Do not twist my words, Sherlock; you have the most terrible habit of doing so. Your revelation has upset me, because I do not believe that you truly _are_ an invert, even less know what it entails.'

“I laughed at him then, John. Or perhaps I was laughing at myself, for the latter part of what he said was true enough, in practice. We argued around the topic for a while longer, each of us becoming the greater agitated. The only advice that my brother could offer was that I might give up my rooms and move away and forget all about you. He could think of no comfort other than that, of the passing of time and the healing of the infection, as no doubt he then saw it. My voice may have become raised by this point. I declared that I should never do such a thing, and I thanked him – somewhat sarcastically, I'll admit – for his helpful suggestions, and I said that I was bound to reveal myself to you. Then I stamped out of the club in a rage and back home to you, John. Although it did take me a few more days to pluck up the courage to do the revealing.”

I hugged my friend tightly. For my goodness, if he had followed his brother's advice, it would have broken my heart quite as completely as his own.

“Mycroft sent you the note after that,” I recalled.

“Yes,” said Holmes. “Not a threat. Rather more out of personal concern for my well-being of mind. I was really quite on the edge by that point.” He chuckled. “The note infuriated me. I returned the next day and shouted at him a little more. He did manage to persuade me to write a letter to that infernal specialist all the same. But I did not post it.” Holmes guffawed. “I was a _rebellious_ invert.”

“As if anyone could hold a hope of curing you of anything against your will,” I said fondly. “Such treatments are an abomination.”

“And that is why I did not post the letter,” said he. “Although Mycroft meant well, bless his soul. And he has come to accept us as we are. He _likes_ you, John. I strongly suspect that he likes you more than he would any wife I might have taken, had my nature been more conventional.”

I smiled at that. “I like him too,” I said. “You do share certain similarities.”

“Heaven forbid,” said Holmes. He looked at me out of the corner of one eye. “I would lay money on my being the better kisser.”

“I shall take that as a given,” I said, laughing, “for I have absolutely no intention of undertaking extraneous research in that direction.”

And my friend took me in his arms then, and left me with no doubt of it at all.


End file.
